Band-Aid
by Shelly LeBlanc
Summary: While helping one son find his role in a house-hold full of talented ninjas, Splinter finds another one expanding his own. Sequel to Four-Eyes. Part of the Growing Pains series.


Title: Band-Aid  
Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2k14 Movie  
Characters: Splinter, Raphael, Donatello, Leonardo, & Michelangelo  
Genre: Family  
Word Count: 7.9k  
Rating: G, just family fluff.  
Summary: While helping one son find his role in a house-hold full of talented ninjas, Splinter finds another one expanding his own.  
Author's Notes: I didn't say anything when I first posted Four-Eyes that I had planned on writing more on the same vein of 2k14!Splinter raising his turtles. I know I have other ideas, but I don't know when I'll be posting them since I literally have more than four other stories I want to write. I just have too many ideas with not enough time to write them. I will have more time to write now that I've quit one of my jobs. But still. Enjoy! Unbeta'd.

-o-

The day had started off like normal, as normal as four mutated turtles and their rat mutant father anyway. Splinter had made breakfast four his young charges, with the help of little Michelangelo, and then brought them to the main living space to do some 'school' work. Today they had been reading and spelling, and it was the same type of day as it had been the past four years. Leonardo had finished first, and his penmanship and spelling was as perfect as ever. Raphael had finished second and while his spelling has improved, his writing had not. Michelangelo had stopped in the middle of his lesson to doodle and had to be put back on track several times before he finished with adequate work. Donatello had finished last, but then again, his lessons were far more advanced than his brothers. He was already reading high school level and therefore his assignments were longer and more difficult.

The return of his eyesight had been a gift. That early potential he had found in his genius son had reawakened upon them acquiring his glasses and he went through lessons and books as if they were a tasty treat and he practically inhaled them. Their lifestyle had improved also because of it, with hot water, electricity, and entertainment. But Splinter could see a problem on the horizon. Soon, Donatello would become so advanced that his father would not be able to keep up with his learning. He was already ahead of him in math, and he was sure that despite his young son's insistence, in reading as well. He knew his son was trying to pace himself, to not excel faster than his father could keep up, but even then he was learning at such a fast rate that it would be pointless to try and rein him in. All he could do is be supportive and stop him from blowing up their home with one of his experiments.

Then, after lessons and a light lunch, they moved to the area they used as their dojo and practiced their new weapons. The ten year olds were progressing nicely with their ninjutsu lessons, despite only having started a little less than two years before. What had started out as a way for his children to protect themselves turned into a passion. They progressed at a much faster rate than he had expected and had already started their weapon training.

Leonardo, who was sharp and focused, had chosen the katana. Its cold steel and sharp edge was a complete match with the dogged determination his eldest son possessed. At the moment, he only fought with a single blade, but Splinter was sure he would soon be ready to learn to wield two with better efficiency as he's becoming with one.

Michelangelo, swift and agile, was paired beautifully with the nunchucks. The twirling sticks and chains whirled faster than his mouth, which was saying something indeed. His youngest had been the most athletic of the brothers and took to his training like a duck to water, but his poor attention span and his proclivity to chaos set him back further than any obstacle Splinter himself could put in front of him.

The bo staff was the perfect match for the steady and calculating Donatello. It was the most versatile of the weapons despite its simplicity. Already the young turtle wore many hats that included tutor, engineer, mechanic, and chemist, taking care of almost all of their household needs and helping with school lessons. And while he was the thinnest of his brothers, he was nearly as strong as they were and had already broken three staffs since choosing the weapon. Instead of continuously trying to work around having to constantly repair his weapon or having to choose another one, he ingeniously created a new staff, collapsible for easy storage and the spring mechanism made the already adaptable weapon even more so, with having the ability to shorten it or lengthen it to fit the occasion.

Splinter had actually been initially surprised when Raphael had picked the sai. The sais were generally used as a defensive weapon because their design was perfect for defending against a sword. But after watching how his hot-tempered and brutish son worked through his katas and how he was starting to clash more and more with his katana-wielding brother, it made a lot of sense. This son wasn't as graceful as the others, preferring to power his way through life with his ever growing girth, but watching him with his choice of weapons was like watching a dancer perform Swan Lake, elegant and moving. He used both his strength and size to his advantage to make the small weapons powerful.

All four were growing into their weapons and into their skills learned from a book and determined father, but he knew there was still a lot his young sons needed to learn before they became masters of both their weapons and themselves. Practice today had proven that fact. He knew that he was more to blame for what had happened and not Raphael, but that had not stopped his second eldest son from running in a panic into the sewers the moment the blood started dripping down Leonardo's face. He had lost his temper, yet again, at the progress the eldest seemed to have made over the other turtles and thus lost control of the situation. Even so, the cut had been caused by an error of someone still learning their weapons and not in the intention to hurt his brother. Had he not had an injured son to tend to, he would have immediately rushed after the wayward turtle to ensure his safety in those dark and dank tunnels. As it were, he had given a look at the increasingly distraught Michelangelo, who as soon as he was given the nonverbal order to follow his brother started to calm down, and watched his youngest shadow the disappearing form of his brother while he assessed the situation with his injured son.

When Splinter had pulled back the cloth he had immediately pressed up against the injury, he was both relieved and worried. The cut was very shallow and the cut had completely missed Leonardo's eyes by centimeters, but the blood was still flowing despite the pressure, and he knew he would have to sew the wound up if they were to avoid too much scarring and an infection. He pressed the cloth back over the small turtle's face and reapplied the pressure. There were tears of pain still in his blue eyes, and the tracks on his cheeks from his initial crying were still wet, but he didn't allow them to fall again. He stubbornly sucked in a breath and held it as his father kept the pressure. Splinter was sure that it was still very painful for the young terrapin, but he was putting up a brave face, whether it was for his remaining brother, who watching in solemn silence, or his father, he wasn't sure. They remained in silence for a few moments until Splinter finally spoke up.

"Just a few more minutes, my son," he said, keeping his hand still upon his face. "How are you fairing?"

"I'm fine, dad," the turtle said, slightly muffled since the cloth was taking up almost the entire right side of his face. "It was just an accident."

Splinter marveled at the strength his sons possessed. In his observation of human children, a resource he frequently used to help him in his journey in becoming a better father, he rarely saw such stoicism in one so young. But all of his sons, with the exception of Michelangelo who sometimes liked to play up his minor injuries for attention, showed a rare capacity of brushing off injuries. He knew it would be helpful later on in life, but it saddened him that they were already used to the cruelties that life had to offer.

"Yes, it was," Splinter said, acknowledging Leonardo's subtle plea to not be too hard on his brother. "But he should not have run as he did."

"Maybe you should go after him?" Leonardo asked, his good eye looking beseeching up at him. It never settled well with him when they were separated for any reason. He, above all of his brothers, worried most about his family's safety and preferred it when he was in eyesight of each one of his family members. Splinter smiled down at him, heartened by the responsible nature this son particularly possessed. Being the perceived oldest aside, he would be a great leader one day. Before he could even give an answer to his son's question, the last remaining son finally spoke up.

"I can take care of Leo, Sensei," Donatello piped in, removing himself from the corner in his attempts to remain out of the way of the chaos that had just transpired. He came directly to his father's side, his arm out and ready to take control of the situation. "I know exactly what to do to stop the bleeding and to wash out the wound so it doesn't get an infection. I have the medical kit stocked up and everything, just like you taught me."

Splinter turned his face from one son to another and stared into the enlarged gold eyes of his second youngest. Donatello stared imploring up at his father, determination seeping out of his pores as he silently begged his father to allow him to perform this task and he relented.

He turned over the task of taking care of Leonardo's wound to his very capable son, but not without reiterating his need to keep the pressure steady and what steps he needed to take to clean out the wound. Other than a badly suppressed eye roll, his brilliant son took his instructions in stride, and so when Splinter left them with a, "And when I'll come back, I will stitch up the wound. Stay safe."

He hurried down the tunnel had seen Raphael fly through in his haste to distance himself from the situation he unwittingly caused and his brother had followed just as quickly. For a moment, as he tracked his two sons' scents, he wished he had sent the more level-headed Donatello after Raphael, for he seemed to have an extraordinary amount of patience when it came to dealing with their most volatile brother, and Michelangelo did have a gift at getting under his brothers' skins, Raphael in particular. But he knew that the smallest turtle wouldn't have been able to take charge of the situation back at home as the other two could, and he was still so much of an innocent that he didn't want to burden him with that kind of responsibility. Honestly, he had wanted none of his children to know how to handle battle scars and wounds, but such is the life they were forced into, being creatures outside the norms of society, he knew that they would have to get used to it if they wanted to survive. The ever growing threat of the Foot Clan and what they would have done to his precious boys still filled him with fear.

He moved swiftly and silently through the sewers, knowing that he was coming closer to his sons based on their trail. Finally after only ten minutes of searching, he found his youngest crouched behind some protruding pipes, his worried gaze staring off into a darkened corner of the sewer. Splinter moved behind him like a quiet shadow and placed a hand upon the hunched shoulder. Michelangelo gave a gasp, which was quickly quieted when he slapped his hand over his mouth to help stifle it. He turned with frightened eyes up at the being who touched him, only to sag slightly when he saw that it was his father. He plowed forward quickly, practically head-butting his father's stomach in his hurry to give and receive a hug. Splinter readily complied, giving him an extra-long squeeze before murmuring, "Go back home, my son. I will take care of your brother now."

Michelangelo nodded and wiped his eyes, for he had been silently crying this whole time and said in a fearful tone, "He keeps hitting the wall."

Splinter nodded his understanding and couldn't help but be surprised at this son's decision to merely watch his brother rather than try to interact with him. It had always been Michelangelo who was the first to try and comfort his brothers, whether they wanted comforting or not, and to stand back while his second oldest brother was in visible distress showed an aforethought that Splinter had taken for granted in his youngest. Of course, it could have been merely the fact that Michelangelo was afraid he would get injured just like Leonardo had that could have stayed his affections. For even though Raphael had dropped his weapons just before leaving their home, he was still a very gifted fighter barehanded.

His father waited until the small turtle had slipped around the corner and could hear his little feet splashing in the water towards their home before turning now to his remaining son. Raphael was seated on a broken drain, his legs scrunched up against his chest. Splinter could hear the sniffles that were muffled against scrapped knees and every now and then a dull thump of what he assumed was his fist hitting the wall. The other one was wrapped tightly around his legs, his grip probably tight enough to hurt.

My poor boy, he thought and moved forward. He moved carefully and loudly, at least enough to not startle the boy with his arrival, but his son did not acknowledge him. He kept on the slow rhythm thumping of his fist and quiet hiccoughs while keeping his face plastered to his knees. After careful consideration, Splinter finally found a piece of piping that looked sturdy enough and sat down next to the runaway child. He sat for a moment and fought the need to bring his boy into his lap to comfort him. This one, above all others, valued his independence and maturity greatly and would have baulked immediately at any sign of affection. Leonardo was starting to, too, following his immediate younger brother's example. Only Michelangelo and Donatello still allowed his kisses and hugs freely, though he was sure that time was quickly coming to a close. So he just resigned himself to allow his left side to brush up against Raphael's right side and settled there.

He let the dripping sound of leaking pipes and Raphael's thumping be the only noise surrounding the pair. He waited, in vain, for his son to speak first, but when he looked down, he saw Raphael's jaw was clinched and he was trying very hard not to say anything at all. Splinter gave a quite sigh and brought out his hand, stopping his son's fist from hitting the sewer wall again.

"That will be enough, Raphael," he said gently, bringing his son's hand up to inspect it. There was some torn skin, but the damage hadn't been so great that he would have to plaster a broken hand. He let his thumb lightly graze the bruised knuckles and was unsurprised his son let out a soft hiss of pain. He tutted softly and pulled out another piece of cloth, one he was planning on using on Leonardo before he saw that the extent of the damage hadn't been as severe as he had originally thought, and started to wrap it around the torn knuckles. There was nothing here sanitary enough to clean the wound with so wrapping it was the only course of action until he got them home and had some alcohol and warm, soapy water at their disposal.

He had just finished tying off the wound and was about to inquire if he was cutting off his circulation when Raphael finally spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said with a sniff. His voice was still slightly muffled due to still being pressed against his legs and he closed his eyes, avoiding his father's gaze.

"Yes," Splinter said, keeping his eyes on top of his son's head, "I know you are." They sat for a few moments, neither of them moving. "But my I ask, what are you sorry about?"

Splinter kept the question vague, gently prying. He knew better now to give his children specifics to play off of, otherwise he wouldn't get the true story. He knew, as a parent, he still had miles to go before he perfected this art, but he thought he was getting better. The growing pains were getting better.

Raphael sniffed a few more times before pulling his face away from his knees and turned to look at his father for a brief moment before turning away, though his face remained free.

"I lost my temper," he said, his voice soft and regretful. His voice hitched slightly but no new tears fell.

Splinter nodded unseen. "Yes, you did," he replied. "That seems to be happening a lot lately."

And it had been. While Raphael hadn't been the bright and sunshine child Michelangelo was, his earlier years showed he had a great capacity for caring. But as they grew and their personalities started to blossom, Raphael had started to grow distance and angry. Splinter had tried several times to try and reach out to his turbulent son, but all previous attempts produced nothing. He knew that he was part of the problem, that he was only one being having to be split four ways. Being a single parent with no experience and suddenly become a parent to four toddlers who had to be kept hidden was a very difficult job. But his sons haven't given up on him despite his many mistakes, he was not about to abandon Raphael to his demons.

"Why do you think that is?" he inquired gently, making sure his son knew that this wasn't an inquisition, but merely a father wanting to know more about his son.

Raphael's answer was surprisingly fast, despite the aura of reluctance coming off of him.

"It's cuz I'm stupid."

This was not a throw-away answer. There had been heat behind those words, and the trembling of Raphael's lip told Splinter how much the young child believed those words. He felt his heart break at that. He also felt guilt. Somehow, this must have been his fault. Had he not paid Raphael enough attention, especially in his schooling? Perhaps he should get with Donatello and see if he wouldn't mind giving Raphael a little bit more time. He would do it himself, and he was actually itching to do it. But he knew by now that Donatello had the superior mind when it came to education, and he would humbly bow out in favor of the rising sun.

"You are not stupid, my son," Splinter started, taking great care to sound both soothing and authoritative. "Your grades are not that bad, and I'm sure that if we-"

"I don't mean that!" Raph interrupted angrily. He scowled and turned away, though Splinter had a feeling that his anger was less at his father's misunderstanding and more towards himself. "I know I ain't as smart as Donnie, but I ain't a dummy."

Splinter watched as his little eyes glared at the wall, his jaw tightening slightly before he continued.

"I mean, I ain't them, all of them. I ain't-" He let out a huff in frustration, his mouth twisting as he contemplated his words. "Special, like them."

Splinter knew from the way the frustration seemed to still be radiating off of him that 'special' wasn't the exact word he was looking for either. Understanding was starting to dawn on the rat. He still kept a mental note to ask Donatello's assistance to help broaden Raphael's vocabulary. He was sure there would be fewer misinterpretations in the future if Raphael was able to find the words he needed to express himself. But for now, he let the thought go and tried to tackle the problem on hand.

"Talented?"

He had offered the word helpfully and when Raphael turned back to him with slightly wide eyes, he knew he got the word right. So he didn't need the soft little, "Yeah," for confirmation. He just nodded and wrapped his arm around his son's shoulder. He counted it as a small victory that Raphael didn't immediately shrug it off, and so he continued.

"Why do you think you are not talented?" he asked, careful to avoid another misunderstanding. This required a lot of questions, some he usually already knew the answers to. He knew it annoyed his sons at times, watching as they roll their eyes up at him in exasperation. But this time, he honestly did not see how his son could not call himself talented. He saw great potential in each and every one of his children. They each had their own unique gifts and he marveled in them every day.

So he stared expectantly at his son and was happy to see he did not immediately become insolent and said, 'just cuz,' because he wanted to avoid the discussion. Instead, the young turtle looked down at his knees and started picking at the scabs there from an earlier bout of rough housing. "I dunno. I just can't do the things they can."

"And what can your brothers do that you cannot?"

This time, Raphael did roll his eyes, honestly believing his father knew perfectly well what he was talking about, but when Splinter did nothing but stare he gave out a great sigh and answered the question.

"Mikey is really fast and very jumpy. I heard you tell him that if he just paid attention more he'd be the best."

Splinter nodded at this, for this was true. He felt that the only reason Michelangelo hadn't progressed faster in his ninjutsu was the fact that he tended to lose focus and showboat rather than concentrate on his technique. His youngest was a highly gifted athlete and he will go far very far, despite his problems with his attention span.

"And Donnie is so smart!" Raphael went on, his voice dripping with envy. "He's not as strong as the rest of us, but he built his bo!"

Splinter knew this to be true also. Donatello was not the most gifted student when it came to ninjutsu. That had been apparent from the very start. His coordination and balance were off, and he just did not have the same energy as the rest of his brothers to complete the moves as efficiently. But whatever he lacked in skill and grace, he more than made up for it in determination and ingenuity. His modified bo was just the tip of the iceberg. Splayed across their home were little gadgets in various stages of completeness that he knew were supposed to better himself and their family in a fight. Skinny as he was, Donatello had started training while being weighed down with several objects so he could get used to having things on him while he fought. Splinter knew that whatever his son could not get right in the dojo, he would find a way to execute it perfectly in the field.

Splinter waited a few moments, waiting to see if the young turtle will continue but he remained willfully silent. So the rat decided to verbally prod him along.

"And what about Leonardo?" he inquired gently, keeping his eyes on his son's face and saw the scowl grow deeper.

"What about him?" Raphael asked petulantly. He caught his father's look before giving a large sigh. "He's perfect, what else is there to say?"

The older mutant could not help but laugh at that statement, which caused Raphael to look up in confusion. This only caused the laughter to increase and it took a while to calm himself down.

"I'm sorry, my son," Splinter said after a few moments, allowing himself to take a couple of breaths before addressing him again. "But your brother is far from perfect."

"Then why do you always praise him during lessons and you barely punish him."

There were times when Raphael's attitude would frustrate him and he sometimes finds himself wondering if he had done the right thing in taking these four turtles in. Then there were other times, when his son's insolence not only made sense, but would sometimes be endearing. Splinter tired very hard to hold back his smile, but for that moment, he found Raphael's indignation adorable.

"First of all, I punish him less because he follows the rules the best. He does not lash out, like you. He pays attention, unlike Michelangelo. Nor does he become so engrossed with his projects that he's late for practice, like Donatello. But he does get punished, as you well know, because he sometimes fights with you."

He saw that his son had opened his mouth, most likely to defend himself, but he continued, drowning out whatever protest he started to make.

"I praise him because he does well, as I am often praising you. You all are gifted in your own way, and I make sure to let you know when you are thing correctly. This means I also have to inform you when you are doing poorly. It is not because I think you are bad, but so that you know what you need to improve. Leonardo spends more time practicing than you, outside of our lessons together, so yes, he is doing better. He is not as fast and agile as Michelangelo, nor is he inventive as Donatello. He knows this and so he practices harder to overcome these shortfalls."

He watched as Raphael's mouth scrunch up as if he was chewing the words he had just heard. Splinter knew what was going on in his young mind and he also knew that he was having a hard time voicing it. With this, the father was happy to help.

"And what do you suppose Leonardo sees in you that he feels he needs improve upon in himself?"

Splinter asked the question directly to his son's face, their eyes locked for a moment before Raphael turned his eyes away and shrugged his shoulders reluctantly. The doubt his little boy showed in his abilities tugged at the ninja master's heart strings and he pulled the turtle closer.

"You are strong, my son," he said, making sure his voice held his convictions. "Not only in body, but in spirit. You have the gift of passion and it burns so bright within you. Leonardo recognizes that fire and he works hard to just even have a portion of that within him too. He knows he will never be as brilliant, as swift, and as powerful as his brothers, but he tries just the same because he loves you all and wants to protect you."

Raphael's face showed his grin when his father praised him, but had turned back into a frown at that last comment. The golden eyes stared hard at the wall and when he opened his mouth again, Splinter was expecting his son to say something along the lines of not needing to be protected but was pleasantly surprised when he piped out, "Leo's gonna be leader, ain't he?"

It wasn't really a question but more of an observation. Still, Splinter played off on this.

"Why?" he asked, "do you want to be leader?"

Raphael shrugged slightly, but immediately knew that the non-verbal answer wasn't going to cut it with his father. He thought about the question for a moment before finally answering.

"No," he said softly, "not really."

Splinter was slightly stunned. From the way Raphael had been acting, he for sure thought it was his way to fight for dominance, to be the head of their small clan. "And why is that?" he asked, unable to hide the honest curiosity in his voice.

"Cuz," he said, his head still down. "I don't think I could do a good 'nuff job." Sensing that his father wanted him to continue, he reluctantly obliged. "Like I said, Donnie's the smart one, he could probably do it. But I know he don't want to." He said this with conviction, but did not elaborate. Before Splinter could question this, Raphael continued. "And Mikey is good and all, but I don't think he'd like having to take over things. He'd rather sit back and follow us. And I may be strong," his face coloring in pleasure when he said this, "but that'd don't mean I would be any good at it. And I probably won't. I'm just not good enough."

Ten-year-olds should never feel like they are not good enough. Nobody should feel like this, but especially the youth, whose stars shine so bright and should have all the opportunities allotted to them. So it was difficult to hear his beautiful boy say such things about himself, especially if they were as giving as the four he was parenting.

"Why do you think you are not good enough?" Splinter asked, his heart aching for the boy.

"Cuz I'm always angry and do things without thinking." Raphael's voice was rough and Splinter was sure that he was about to cry, but when he looked into the turtle's face, his eyes were dry. "Leo thinks all the time, sometimes too much. Not like Donnie, but still, a lot. He can handle the… the resp-" Raphael paused as he tried to sound out the word. After a couple more tries, he finally got it and his face lit up in triumph. "Responsibility. Leo does really good with responsibility."

Splinter stared in awe at the insight this son has. Children, he had learned in these past few years, are selfish. And they supposed to be. They shouldn't have to think of others in the extent that adults should. They shouldn't be thinking about protecting their family the way his sons do. Michelangelo worries about their spirits, their happiness, and so he does what he can to make his brothers laugh. Donatello worries about their physical well-being and sets forth to make them as comfortable in their subterranean home. Raphael worries about their safety and always sleeps closest to the door and with one eye figuratively open. Leonardo worries about all three. He allows Michelangelo his laughter, but makes sure he never pushes too far. He silently encourages Donatello's inventions, without allowing him to forget himself in the process. He challenges Raphael to become better, stronger, but without letting him fall into isolation. But this was not something Splinter felt he could explain to a ten-year-old, despite how wise beyond their years they all were. So instead, he gives his son a hug and a kiss on top of his head.

"You are more than good enough, Raphael," he said, giving him an extra squeeze. Finally, after a small hesitation, Raphael wrapped his own arms around his father and returned the hug. His grip was fierce, one already strong enough to break bone, but Splinter had no fear. He would never fear his sons, despite the large size he was sure they would grow into. "But you are right. Leonardo has some qualities that will make him a great leader one day. This does not mean you do not."

"I know," Raphael said into his father's chest. "I still don't wanna do it."

Splinter chuckled. "Fair enough," he said with amusement. He allowed the silence to blanket them, and Raphael became more pliant in his arms. Only when his son started to rub his face against the folds of his shirt did he speak again. "So, what do we do about your temper?"

Raphael stiffened in his embrace and started to pull back, but Splinter refused to allow him and after struggling for only a moment, he calmed back down and his father continued.

"You have so much spirit in you, my son. I do not like sending you to the Hashi so many times for something you do not seem to be able to control. Perhaps punishment is not the answer to this problem."

"I'm not getting punished?" Raphael asked hopefully, and the rat had to bite back a laugh.

"Oh, you are getting punished, my son. But not for the loss of temper," Splinter said and watched as his son's face fell. "You did leave the lair without permission, and scared your father and brothers with your disappearance. You must be held accountable for those actions."

Raphael gave a long sigh and nodded reluctantly.

"But for your temper, I feel we need to approach it differently," Splinter stated and went quiet for a moment, contemplating their choices. His first instincts had been to set him up with some exercises, perhaps a punching bag to let out his anger by hitting something other than his brothers but for some reason, he did not think more training was the answer. He needed something calming, something soothing, something… unexpected.

"Do you know what knitting is?" Splinter asked, and the confusion on his son's face was answer enough. He let out a sign of relief. With as much as his sons are interested in the world above them, there were still things they were left mercifully ignorant of. Gender roles were something he would gladly leave out of their home. His sons would have enough time being accepted by the outside world, they didn't need the added baggage of anything else. He knew that most little boys above would have baulked at the thought of knitting, and he was sure Raphael would have too if he had been raised to believe that knitting and sewing were considered feminine. One of the only plus sides of their limited resources was that because there were so few toys available to them, none of his sons batted an eye if he brought home a doll or a pink car. Dolls were great toys for playing doctor or adding soldiers to their armies and all the cars got banged up in the end anyway. Michelangelo's Barbie collection was impressive and towered over Leonardo's battalion.

"I think you might find it a useful skill," Splinter continued. "Not only will the repetitive motion serve the cool your hot-tempered mind, but it will aid in dexterity that will only benefit you as you continue to wield your sais."

There was a slight grumpy expression and Splinter could hear the unspoken, "That sounds like a lot of work" and he could hold back this smile. "An added bonus to this, is that it will create some extra warmth for the winter, and you know how much your two younger brothers are affected by it."

That cloudy expression cleared almost immediately and was replaced by a thoughtful frown. Splinter knew that there was no greater motivation for Raphael than to protect his brothers. It was just a natural instinct. Winters were harsh all around, even with the addition of heaters. Donatello and Michelangelo bore the blunt of them, being the skinniest and the smallest, and were sluggish compared to their brothers. They slept longer and had a harder time eating their already meager rations. Splinter tried his hardest to get as much clothes as possible for his four young charges, but they were growing fast and were hard on the already second-or-thirdhand clothing with their activity. Splinter had tried knitting himself when the turtles were younger but he wasn't very good at it and found it difficult to find the time to continue now that his children required lessons. But if Raphael was willing to learn, his father would do everything in his power to help him along.

"Okay," Raphael said, after a few moments of contemplation. "I'll learn it. But I'll probably won't be any good at it."

Splinter ran a pawed hand over the top of his son's bandana covered head. "My son, I'm sure you can do anything you put your mind to."

It was something he said often, but not always to this son. It was usually said to Donatello, who would sometimes ask questions out loud that Splinter hadn't realized were rhetorical. But his smart son's answering grin was almost the same as the one Raphael was giving him now, something sweet and slightly exasperated.

"Thanks, dad," Raphael said quietly, squeezing his father again around the middle. The rat let out an 'oof' that was _mostly_ for show and it earned a hard-sought giggle from his second eldest.

"Let's go back home now, my son," Splinter said, and they rose from their seated position on the pipe. Raphael brought his hand up and scrubbed away any stray tearstains with the back of his hand before grabbing onto Splinter's outstretched one and followed his father back home.

They walked in amicable silence most of the way. It was only when they were almost at their door did Raphael stop and tugged his father's hand slightly to halt him.

"Dad?" he asked, his voice was filled with a rare nervousness that caused Splinter to stop more than his hand did.

"Yes, Raphael?" Splinter asked and watched his son chew his lip slightly before answering.

"Don't tell Leo I said he would be a great leader," he said with a hint of embarrassment. He then scowled and put on his tough guy voice he was fond of using to hide it. "I mean, he already has a big enough head. It don't need to be any bigger."

A chuckle bubbled up in his throat and he had to swallow several times to keep it at bay.

"It will be our secret," he finally said and led his son back to their home.

It wasn't until he crossed over the threshold that he realized that he may have a problem. He hadn't actually forgotten, but it did not cross his mind that his other sons would be out in the open, and Raphael would have to see the product of his anger written across Leonardo's face. He already knew his son felt guilty for his loss of control, he did not think it would do anyone any good for it to be rubbed into his own face. But as he looked around the room, he realized that his brief moment of worry was for naught. The main room was vacant and he heard voices coming from the kitchen. Filled with relief, he instructed his son to go directly to his room and kisses the top of his head before letting him go. For once, Raphael didn't gripe and did as his father asked, only sparing the smallest of glances in the direction of his brother's voices. Splinter waited until he heard the door shut tight before moving to the kitchen, his mind moving from the worry of one son to the other.

As he was entering the kitchen, he was already going through his mental checklist of what he needed to do to stitch his son up. He would need to wash his hands and arms, of course, especially since he had been out in the sewer. He needed to make sure he had all the supplies ready and have Donatello on hand to…to…

Splinter froze as he took in the sight in front of him, his checklist disappearing. There were his three sons, in various stages of sitting and standing under the big bright light over the kitchen table. Leonardo was sitting on a stool, his eyes closed with a mild pained expression on his face with Donatello standing over him in his personal space and Michelangelo hovering near by, plastron down upon the table and surrounded by their mismatched and scavenged medical equipment. It wasn't the sight of his sons close together that caused him to freeze. It was the needle in Donatello's hand and the fact that he was in the middle completing what appeared to be yet another stitch on Leonardo's face.

Much like the chuckle from before, anger boiled up within Splinter but he fought hard to keep it in check. He knew that yelling and thus frightening the boy while he had a sharp object so near his brother's eye would not help in the least. Instead, he stood stock still and held his anger in check.

He watched as Donatello threw another stitch and Michelangelo rising upon his hands to take a closer look.

"That looks so gross, bruh," he exclaimed, not taking his eyes off his eldest brother's face.

"Stop it, Mikey," Donatello exclaimed sternly, pausing his ministrations to shoot his offending brother a glare. "You're getting in my light."

Michelangelo settled down again and Donatello went back to the task at hand.

"How are you doing, Leo?" the doctoring turtle asked, his voice gentle. Leonardo did not move and his lips barely parted when he answer his brother.

"It stings a little, but I'm good."

Donatello nodded once. "Good, you're doing great, just keep still," he said and continued his task.

Splinter had wanted to hold his anger and exact the punishment he knew was needed if he were to stop his sons from doing something as dangerous as this again. He wanted to be upset with Donatello, for taking it upon himself to go against his expressed wishes and try something he was too young to accomplish. And he was sure he would have kept on feeling that way had he not been watching the exchange between his sons. Because Donatello's voice shook when he spoke to his brothers, and his face was a shade greener than usual, but his hands, the very same hands holding the needle and thread that was bringing his brother's face back together, were as steady as a rock and he moved with precision that even wizened Splinter envied. He looked like he had been doing it for years, and perhaps he had as the rat recalled the cloth dolls that had been accumulated through the years that had patches sewn into them after a 'doctor's' visit and the clothes that Donatello had chosen to darn himself instead of bringing it to his father's attention. To his knowledge, though, this was the first time his son had applied this technique to skin. It would appear that Donatello had found yet another skill to add to his impressive resume and Splinter found himself in awe once again at the abilities his sons seemed to acquire.

So instead of interfering, he stayed back and watched Leonardo's wound slowly close under those deft fingers and after a few more minutes, the task was complete. All parties breathed a sigh of relief, except for Donatello, who quickly grabbed a cloth and put antibiotic cream upon the sutures he had just made. The young boy placed more than Splinter would have done, and was a little too heavy handed when it came to the tape while placing the bandage upon the injured turtle's face, but otherwise he had done a splendid job. Leonardo gave a crooked smile as he rose from his stool and patted his brother gently on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Donnie," Leonardo said, his voice filled with gratitude. The answering grin wavered on Donatello's face, but it was bright. Then Michelangelo have a heartier pat, upon the taller turtle's back, but that proved too much for the 'doctor' and he quickly scrambled for the trashcan that had been placed nearby and emptied the contents of his stomach into it. The prideful look on the eldest turtle's face turned into one of pity and Michelangelo let out a groan.

"Ew!" he exclaimed. "Secondhand pizza."

It was only when it looked like Donatello was nearing the end of his sickness did move forward, quickly grabbing a spare rag and handing it to his son. Donatello quickly grabbed it and wiped his mouth before raising his head and grinned sheepishly up at his father, understanding fully the compassionate yet stern look upon Splinter's face.

"Sorry," he meekly said. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."

Splinter nodded, wrapping a hand around his son's head and gave it a kiss, before repeating the action with the other two sons, making sure to put more care in Leonardo's kiss due to his injuries. He knew not to baby his eldest, especially in front of his brothers. He would wait until they were in private and the stoicism show he liked to put on in front of his brothers dropped.

"Go brush your teeth, Donatello," he said and backed away from his son to allow him passage out of the kitchen. He didn't inquire about his stomach, for he knew that his illness had been brought upon by nerves. "Then please go into your bedroom and tend to Raphael's hand. It will not require stitches but I do not want it to become infected."

Donatello's smile was bright and energetic and he moved to do as his father asked, only to be stopped short with Splinter's next words. "And then tomorrow, you will join Raphael in the Hashi for not waiting until I returned to pull this stunt."

Donatello's grin fell and his shoulder's sagged, but he continued on and disappeared from view.

"It's not really Donnie's fault, Sensei," Leonardo piped in. His voice slightly muffled due to the excess of bandages. "I encouraged him."

"Yes," Splinter said simply. "I recognize this and if you hadn't been injured, you would have joined them. As it is, I'm excusing you from practice until the stiches come out."

Splinter watched his son blanch at that. Not being able to practice with his brothers was worse than being in the Hashi, according to the blue-eyed youngster, but he handled his 'punishment' with grace and bowed to his father before moving out of the kitchen and into the living space to sit down. His movements were slightly wobbly due to blood loss and he knew without being told he would need to take it easy for a while, despite how he may feel about it.

"And what about me?" Michelangelo piped in, leaning in close to his father. "I was the bestest one today."

After the scare and worry he had experienced just mere minutes ago, Splinter didn't have the energy to hide his chuckle. "Yes, you were very good today, Michelangelo. As your prize, you get to watch over Leonardo and make sure he is comfortable while he's healing."

Maybe to other boys, having to watch over someone didn't seem like that much of a reward but for a turtle who had been babied more than most, it caused his blue eyes to light up and he quickly jumped off of the counter, gave a tight squeeze of thanks to his father and ran after his eldest brother to perform his task with high enthusiasm.

Once all of his children were out of his sight, he heaved a great sign and allowed his body to deflate slightly as he tried to let the tension of the past hour leave his body. He turned to the stove and set up to make himself some tea. As he waited for the beverage to brew, he couldn't help but wonder had he doesn't have grey hairs lining his brown coat already. His sons have an inexplicable talent of making him feel old with their antics. But as the minutes passed, he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his face as he thought back at all the wonders these young turtles had brought to his life when he decided to take them in after the fire. True, they sometimes made it feel like he was working his way to an early grave, but somehow, just being around them, and experiencing the love that they showed in return, he suddenly felt unbelievably young again.


End file.
